Stand By Me
by Tehri
Summary: Alfred and Arthur has a big fight, and Alfred tells the Englishman to get out. As he later regrets what he said and starts to worry that he'll never get to see Arthur again, he gets help from an unexpected person.


**_Author's Note: Here's the Valentine's Day fic. ^^ xD The one I told myself I would not write, since I think of the day more as "Make Single People Feel Like Shit" Day. But I wrote it anyway, and decided to put it here. Everyone: Happy Valentine's Day, one day in advance. xD_**

**_Songs used in this fic: "No. 5" by Hollywood Undead (because I can totally imagine that Alfred would have that one xD), and "Stand By Me" by Ben E. King, in my opinion one of the most romantic songs of all time.  
_**

**_Oh, and here are some translations! :D  
_**

_Vous condamnez le bâtard! = You damn bastard!_

_Frai d'enfer! = Spawn of Hell!_

_Je devrais vous châtrer avec mes mains nues! __= I should castrate you with my bare hands!_

_Ce qui vous a fait pour briser son coeur fragile cette fois, vous fils d'une putain varicelle-montée?! __= What did you do to break his fragile heart this time, you son of a pox-ridden whore?!_

_Sati – A Hindi name that means "truthful"._

* * *

Alfred cursed angrily and sank down on a chair in the hallway. How the hell had this happened? One moment, everything had been as usual, and the next he and Arthur had started yelling at each other. Their fight had gone on for quite a while before the Brit had said that he didn't want to fight, but that it hadn't been his fault for once either. And Alfred had yelled at him. Really yelled at him.

"Well, then maybe you should just go! Go! Get the fuck out!"

The words had passed his lips before he had even been aware of what he was saying. And Arthur had simply packed his bags and left, refusing to listen to the younger nation's pleads for forgiveness. It was what Alfred had asked for, true. But he only wanted the Englishman back. _His_ Englishman. Arthur had not even started it, and he had tried to make it stop as well. And yet the American had reacted like this.

"Fuck," Alfred whispered, leaning his head in his hands. "_Fuck_! What the fuck have I done...? Why the hell didn't I just run after him?! _Fuck you_, Alfred F. Jones! If you had been anyone else, you would have fucking _begged_ for him to stay!"

He slammed his fist against the wall, another string of angry curses passing his lips. He knew that Arthur could be extremely difficult whenever he felt like it, but this was not one of the Brit's usual mood swings. Arthur had _not_ left because he was angry. Rather, he left because someone who claimed to care about him, someone who claimed to love him, had told him to "get the fuck out". And Alfred felt absolutely miserable. He _had_ been at fault, because he had decided to suddenly take up the subject of old relationships. Which had eventually led to carefully veiled insults, to which Arthur had reacted very badly. When Alfred had said that Arthur had done nothing than sleep around during his days as the British Empire and also accused the older man of continued flirtations with India, Arthur had enough. Raising his voice, the former empire had asked the former colony to simply drop the subject; all that was in the past, and he had not slept around, nor flirted with India since they parted. It had only escalated from there, until Alfred told him to leave.

"I'm so fucking stupid," he mumbled as he slowly forced himself to get out of the damn chair. He couldn't sit there in the hallway forever, because Arthur would sure as hell not come in through the door for a very long time now. "Shit..." He glanced at his watch; he had been sitting there for almost two hours, only going over everything in his head. It was late already. "I should try to find him... B-but he can be anywhere..."

Slowly, he stumbled into the living room and sank down on the couch; with a little luck, he wouldn't need to move from the spot for a few hours at least. His body was tired and cried for sleep, even though his mind kept telling him to stay awake.

"Just a few minutes," he sighed. "Just a quick nap. Then I'm off to look for him..."

---

_Hollywood, we never goin' down..._

_Hollywood, we never goin' down..._

_Hollywood, we never goin' down..._

_And all the kids in the hood, come and wave and shake your hands!_

_Hollywood, we never goin' down!_

_And when you're drunk, shake that ass like you know how to dance!_

_Hollywood, we never goin' down!_

Alfred groaned loudly when he heard Hollywood Undead's "No. 5" break the silence in the room. His cell phone was ringing... Now, where was the phone? He blinked slowly and looked around.

_Start gettin' loud, I wanna party now!_

_If you hate on Undead, that's a party foul!_

_I only drink Mickey's, I can't afford the cans,_

_I drink so much they call me Charlie 40-hands!_

He patted his pocket absentmindedly before pulling out the phone. His vision was still blurry when he tried to read the caller ID. ... Why the hell would Francis call him? Sure, he had given the Frenchman the number, of course, but as a rule, Francis never called him unless it was very urgent. Everything else went via Matthew. But since Francis actually called this time, Alfred thought that it must be urgent. He flipped the phone open and pressed a button.

"Y'ello," he said. "What's up, Francis?"

"_Vous condamnez le bâtard_!" Francis yelled as loud as he could, and Alfred quickly yanked the phone away from his ear, staring at it in surprise. "_Frai d'enfer_! _Je devrais vous châtrer avec mes mains nues_! _Ce qui vous a fait pour briser son coeur fragile cette fois, vous fils d'une putain varicelle-montée_?!"

While he didn't understand the words shouted at him, he knew that they meant nothing good. When Francis decided to yell at someone like this, it was rarely good; and Matthew never wanted to translate at those times, since he thought that it was far too brutal.

"Uhm... Francis...?" He managed to make the other man quiet down. "I... I don't know what you said there, but... Uh... Don't kill me...? Please? And just... Just tell me why the fuck you're yelling at me, okay...?"

The Frenchman growled angrily.

"Why is it that your _cher petit frère_ Canada called me an hour ago, on the verge of breaking down," shouted Francis. "Why is it that he begs me for advice on handling a certain crying _Anglais_? What did you do, you cursed brat?! Why was _Angleterre_ crying?!"

Alfred groaned silently and rubbed the back of his head. He should have known... Either Arthur would go home, or he would go to Matthew, who never turned the man away.

"We had a fight," he reluctantly explained. "A pretty big one... O-only that I was the one who... I didn't stop, even when he asked me. I told him to get out." He heard Francis take a deep breath, ready to yell again. "But I didn't mean it," he hastily added. "I swear! I didn't mean to say it, it just... The words just came before I thought of what I was doing; I didn't want him to leave! I didn't mean to... to..."

"Call Mathieu," growled Francis. "I may not like him, but not even _Angleterre_ deserves something like this. And I hate to see my Mathieu upset. Call him now, and ask to speak with Arthur, and _apologise_. Or you'll see why your _Anglais_ enjoys threatening me with another Hundred Years' War."

The Frenchman hung up, and Alfred slowly lowered his hand. Arthur had been crying... He sighed quietly and got up.

"Get dressed, Al," he told himself. "Wash up, and change clothes. _Then_ you can call Mattie..."

He hesitated a little bit when he walked up the stairs. For all he knew, Arthur might leave Matthew at any given moment and go home... Perhaps he _should_ call now, if he wanted to have a chance at speaking to the Brit... He looked at the phone in his hand again. What if Arthur left now...?

He flipped the phone open again and dialled Matthew's number. Only a moment passed before someone picked up.

"A-Alfred!" Matthew sounded both surprised and relieved. "W-what is it?"  
"Is Arthur there," Alfred asked quickly. "I really need to talk to him, it's important. A-and I'm sorry if he came to you at a bad time or something, I just... God, how the fuck do I explain this..."

There was a moment of silence.

"He left just a while ago," mumbled the timid Canadian. "He said that he needed to see someone, a-and I thought that he meant you..."

Alfred frowned slightly.

"I doubt that it's me," he replied with a sigh. "We had a fight, and I told him to get out... A-and I have to apologise..."

Matthew groaned.

"Idiot," he stated. "Alfred, he was crying when he came here. He wouldn't tell me what had happened; he just asked to stay for a little while. And now he left."

Arthur was gone, and Alfred had no way to get a hold of him. Most likely, the man would not answer any calls; which meant that the American was hopelessly lost.

* * *

Three long days passed before Alfred heard anything about Arthur again. Three days that were spent inside, with movies, music, coffee and candy to make himself feel calm. Needless to say, it did not work. He kept thinking about Arthur and the fight, wondering where the man could have gone. But when his phone rang after those three days, he more or less ran from the kitchen and threw himself onto the couch, grabbing the phone and hitting his head on the coffee table in the same movement.

"Ow, _fuck_!" He flipped the phone open and pressed a button. "Alfred Jones speaking!"

"America!" A heavily accented woman's voice sounded in his ear. "Thank all gods, you were home!"

"... India, is that you?"

He recognised the voice from the meetings, although he had never spoken with her in private. Arthur had never said anything else but good things about her, and she had always seemed very kind, if feisty.

"Yes, it's me," she replied quickly. "America, did you and my dear Arthur have a fight? He seems so broken, what in the name of Kali did you say to him?!"

Alfred winced; it seemed that everyone was out to get him for making Arthur cry (not entirely true, of course, but it was what he felt). He wasn't certain about how he should deal with it yet. Somehow, India had found out, and even though she wasn't yelling at him, he could not be certain about if she was angry or not.

"I... I told him to get out... Uhm... India, how did you find out...?"

The woman sighed quietly.

"He's here, America," she said quietly. "He came here yesterday, asking if he could stay for a few days. He's out for a walk right now, so I took the chance to call you." She was quiet for a moment. "Look, he said that he'll go back home in four days or so. Do you want to talk to him, or apologise?"

"O-of course I do! I hate it when he's sad because of me!"

India chuckled gently, but when she spoke again, Alfred could swear on that she was grinning.

"Perfect," she chirped happily. "I know _exactly_ what you should do!" He heard her rummage around after something. "Ah, there it is... Now, you have been with Arthur long enough to know that he adores romance, no?"

"... He does?"

"You mean you don't know?!" India sounded shocked, almost as if Alfred had just told her that he had seen some Hindu gods dance on the streets. "That was the first thing I noticed about him, and yet you don't know?! He is a very romantic man, America; you have to keep that in mind! To him, there is a right way to go about things like this! If you don't know that, then you might as well give up!"

Alfred groaned quietly. He was no expert on romance; what he knew came from bad movies, and Arthur hated those and kept saying that there was no way things like that would work.

"India, what the hell do you want me to do," he asked exasperatedly. "I'm no good at this, okay?!"

There was a moment of silence before she laughed softly.

"Calm, America," she said. "I'll tell you something he did for me once. We fought a lot during our relationship, but he always won me over again somehow. Once, he stood in my garden, called me out to the balcony and recited Shakespeare to me. I had told myself that I would never speak to him again, but I melted on the spot and begged him to come inside to spend some... quality-time with me." Her voice more or less betrayed the fact that she was smiling. "It was not the fact that it was Shakespeare, it was the way he recited it." She sighed dreamily. "Now... Ah, how should I say it... There was one particular time when I had thrown him out after a bad argument. I was furious, but he came back. I had a window open while I was reading, and he stood just outside and began to sing... I don't remember which song it was, but it was so beautiful... I couldn't just turn him away again."

Alfred frowned slightly as she spoke. Arthur enjoyed romance, and he had recited Shakespeare and even sung in order to make India forgive him and take him back. That was a side of the Englishman he didn't know about. And maybe it was a side he wanted to keep completely to himself from now on.

"Look, what is your idea," he asked sharply. "What should I do?"

She laughed softly.

"Relax," she said. "Try writing and sending him poetry or something, or maybe sing a romantic song. I'll even help you choose a song if you're worrying about that."

He leaned back as he listened to her, a plan beginning to take shape. There was a chance that it would work, even if it was small. The chance was there, and he would have to take it.

* * *

Arthur sighed deeply to himself as he paid the cab driver and began to drag his luggage up to the door. The days at India's house had been very relaxing; it had been nice to see her again, and she had apparently been glad to have him there. In fact, during the last four days, she had been very... giddy.

"Silly Sati," he mumbled as he began to fumble with his keys. "Always so energetic... She hasn't changed a bit since back then." He smiled faintly and shook his head. "A true shame that it had to end..."

He sighed and pushed the key into the lock; but as he attempted to turn it, he found that the door was unlocked already.

"What the..."

Slowly, he opened the door and stepped inside. A pair of familiar boots stood there, and a bomber jacket hung on the hallstand. He let out a silent growl at the sight of the jacket.

"America," he muttered. "I should've known..." He pulled off his own boots and his coat, closed the door behind him and then hurried to go and look for the stupid git. "I know you're here, you stupid bloody git! Get the hell out of my house!"

He looked through all rooms on the ground level, and then hurried upstairs. When he came to his bedroom, he heard the soft sound of music; a bass, playing the same passage over and over again. The passage was familiar... He opened the door, and then gasped in surprise. The room was filled with red roses and candles. Large bouquets in vases, candles all over the place, rose petals on the floor and the bed... And Alfred stood there, a soft smile on his face as he watched Arthur and began to sing.

"_When the night has come, and the land is dark,_

_And the moon is the only light we see._

_No, I won't be afraid, oh, I won't be afraid,_

_Just as long as you stand, stand by me..._"

Arthur felt how the blood rushed to his face, his cheeks heating. He had been mad at Alfred just a moment ago, but now... Now he felt ready to melt on the spot.

"_So darling, darling, stand by me! Oh, stand by me!_

_Oh, stand, stand by me, stand by me..._"

The American stepped closer, gently taking his hand as he continued to sing. Arthur shivered slightly, unable to look away from the younger nation's amazing blue eyes.

"_If the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall,_

_Or the mountain should crumble to the sea;_

_I won't cry, I won't cry. No, I won't shed a tear._

_Just as long as you stand, stand by me..._"

As the gentle sound of violins took over, Alfred pulled the Englishman into a tight embrace before he started to move to the music; there might not be that much space to move on, but dancing like this with Arthur just felt right. He counted in his head before he began to sing again.

"_And darling, darling, stand by me! Oh, stand by me!_

_Stand by me, stand by me, stand by me!_

_Whenever you're in trouble won't you stand by me?_

_Oh, stand by me, oh, stand, stand by me, stand by me!_

_Darling, darling, stand by me, oh, stand by me!_

_Oh, stand, stand by me, stand by me..._"

The music faded, and they stopped moving. Alfred looked into Arthur's eyes with a soft smile, trailing his fingers over the older man's cheek.

"So, Arthur," he whispered gently. "Will you...?"

Arthur, still blushing, took Alfred's hand and smiled faintly.

"What," he asked. "Are you trying to ask me if I will stand by you...?" He chuckled at the American's meaning smile. "You insufferable git... Of course. Do you even need to ask?"

Alfred leant down and kissed Arthur gently, feeling how the Englishman wrapped his arms around his neck. As the kiss slowly deepened and got more intense, they began to claw and pull at each other's clothes; although it took them a few minutes (due to eager kissing and longing touches), the clothes were soon shed and thrown into a corner. Alfred lifted Arthur from the floor, quickly carrying him over to the bed.

"Rose petals on the bed..." Arthur chuckled softly. "You git, who gave you this idea?"

"... Actually, I talked to India," Alfred admitted with an embarrassed smile. "She suggested the singing and the petals and candles... Uhm... The rest of the roses would be me overachieving, I suppose."

Arthur laughed and kissed the younger nation again, hugging him tightly as he was laid down on his back. A chuckle escaped Alfred's lips as he let his hands roam over his lover's body and heard the man whine.

"... Really though, did I overdo it with all the roses and the dancing...?"

Arthur groaned loudly and grinded his hips against Alfred's.

"For Pete's sake, it was perfect, you bloody git," he gasped. "Now, will you stop talking for once in your life and just _take me_ already?!"

Alfred laughed and kissed Arthur's neck.

"No need to rush this," he teased. "I know I'm absolutely irresistible, but I think we should take it slow now."

He began to plant kisses down over Arthur's neck and chest, and continued down over his stomach. Every time his lips touched the Englishman's pale skin, a small gasp escaping the older man's lips every time. But as he began to continue down, Arthur quickly made him look up.

"A-Alfred," he stuttered. "Y-you don't h-have to do this..."

Alfred tilted his head with a mischievous smile.

"Oh, but I want to, Arthur," he replied. "You asked me to be quiet, so I'm going to use my mouth for something better..."

As he proceeded, he thought to himself that the moaned pleas for more would be the sweetest reward he could get in this situation.

---

Arthur stretched like a satisfied cat, glancing over his shoulder at the half asleep younger nation with a warm smile playing on his lips. Although he had gotten some help, Alfred had shown that he could indeed be very romantic, something that Arthur had missed for quite some time. Most of his relationships had been very passionate and filled with romance; the relationship with Alfred had been passionate, but it had lacked romance. Surprisingly enough, it seemed that there were times when the young man stopped being his usual dense and obnoxious self for a while. He sighed softly and curled up, enjoying the warmth that spread from his lover's body.

"Mnh... Arthur...?"

He smiled.

"What is it, Alfred?"

Alfred placed one arm around the older man's waist.

"I was thinking... It's Valentine's Day tomorrow..."

"Yes...?"

"How about we go out tomorrow...? I'll take you wherever you want to go, and then we'll have a romantic dinner here, just the two of us... I'll cook and set the table and all that jazz, you won't need to lift a finger..."

Arthur smiled warmly and managed to roll over so that he faced his former colony and looked straight into his blue eyes.

"I'll agree to that," he whispered. "On the condition that you sing that song and dance with me again."


End file.
